


Batmoot

by byebyeskylark



Series: City Limits [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Gen, Interdimensional shenanigans, Magic, Multiverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 01:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11303307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byebyeskylark/pseuds/byebyeskylark
Summary: Very occasionally you have to fight multiverse bullshit with multiverse bullshit.





	Batmoot

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by "Planetary/Batman: Night on Earth" by Warren Ellis. Title borrowed from the Entmoot, originally meant as only a placeholder, now just an unfortunate monument to my inability to title things.
> 
> "Bat-apologies" for this silly bit of weirdness.

The Shaman pulled his staff along the broken grit of the asphalt and said his final invocation. His companions, lining the musty walls of the alley, braced against the rapid winds that suddenly filled the filthy backway. Garbage swirled in the air and the Shaman breathed deeply the city scents of sewer drain, exhaust and piss, both new and old. The dim light of the alley was replaced by a static-y glow that made the edges of the dumpsters, bricks and graffiti swim if one looked at them too long.

Finally, figures started to form in the harsh blue light, and after a suspended moment the alley was filled with people, most in a type of costume or uniform. The Shaman admired his handiwork as a few hundred people filled Crime Alley between Polk and Geoffrey streets.

An old man leaning heavily on a cane in dark suit looked around at the myriad red, yellow, green, blue, and black symbols emblazoned on grey and black backgrounds.

"What fresh hell is this," he sighed.

A particularly cheery looking Batman chided him,

"Now, now, citizen, there are ladies present!" 

A handful of red- and scarlet-haired women snorted in response.

The Dark Knight, immense in comparison to many of the other Batmen, felt a tug on his cape. 

"Excuse me sir but I'm going to go talk to those ladies!" Carrie exclaimed breathlessly as she pushed between two male Robins to reach a tall blonde Stephanie wearing the Robin colors next to the slight, shadowy figure of Black Bat. The women greeted her warmly.

Not everyone had twins, though. One Nightwing was trying – and failing – to surreptitiously move Oracle away from a small pack of feral looking bat creatures. They crouched silently in the midst of the crowd, the angles of their limbs making it clear they weren't fully human. They scanned the others from behind masks defined only by red teeth roughly painted onto the fabric. A nearby Robin wished Miss Martian was here so they could discuss the fascinating (AND TERRIFYING) pack in the privacy of a mind link.

Costumes seemed to span a wide range of technological achievement and aesthetics. Some were bright and flamboyant, others faded as well into the surroundings as the eerie glow allowed. While some suits were clearly advanced mechs, the Shaman and his companions were more organic, their colors earthier and their belts equipped with arcane rather than modern bits and accessories.

Though no one was shouting, the hum of shocked, excited, and concerned voices filled the air. The Shaman's Red Robin went by Sparrow. Understated in brown and grey, he finished casting a field over the nexus of Crime Alley, hiding the heroes and their families. No one would interrupt them tonight.

The Shaman slammed his staff down on the spot where the body of his mother had once lain and spoke.

"Quiet."

And they were quiet. One Robin standing behind him noticed a shadow move on the Shaman's back. He grabbed the arm of the Robin beside him to point out the Flying Fox that was clinging comfortably to the Shaman's black cloak. 

"Tt" tutted Damian, until he spotted the large, velvety bat and gasped in happy surprise.

The Shaman turned to raise an irritated eyebrow, but a number of other Batmen smiled indulgently. The one closest laid a hand on each Robin's shoulder protectively.

"I've brought us all together to deal with magic that threatens all of us and our worlds." 

Old Man Wayne, about to roll his eyes, caught the disapproving look of Alfred, only middle aged, across the small circle that had formed in the center of the alley, and instead smiled in shock at the friend he hadn't seen in so many years. Alfred smiled back sadly at his aged son's deep frown lines and apparent frailty. Who was taking care of him now?

"In every reality that contains a Gotham, this place is a node. It connects us all across-" the Shaman broke off as one of his own group moved away from her station. 

Dressed in a mottled, soot colored suit that reached up her face to obscure her mouth and nose, she climbed nimbly, silently onto a dumpster that a few Batgirls were standing or sitting on. They made way for her as she trained her white-blind eyes on a spot on the brick wall above them. The Shaman addressed the patch of wall,

"Could you make yourself visible? You're making Cassandra nervous."

"Sorry," replied Terry as he materialized. In the crowd, Batwing whistled in admiration of the sleek profile of the red and black suit that was able to cling to walls. 

"I was in stealth mode when you pulled me in, and I...got distracted," Terry waved at the assembly. 

"Quite understandable," said a few Alfreds.

"A Lord of Chaos," the Shaman continued, "has decided we are a major force for Order, in every reality we exist in. If he can eliminate us, his power in every reality will increase exponentially. He's working to slide this node out of Gotham entirely, where it could become, instead, a door to his world."

"Klarion," muttered a blue and grey Batman to a grey and black Batman with a cape so long it bordered on absurd. 

"Ugh," a nearby Robin, young and wearing red and black, replied in disgust. 

Near the south end of the alley a hawkish Alfred Pennyworth, who looked like his nose had been broken more than once, met the eyes of a nearby Batman, tall and menacing in kevlar and armor. He'd noticed what Alfred had been trying to hide behind himself: a pre-teen Bruce, his face intense and intent, afire with the knowledge of what he could become. But also, content to stay behind Alfred. He hadn't been back to Crime Alley in his own timeline. Yet.

The adult Bruce's eyes widened in surprise. He didn't want to face that age, in memory or in person, but he wanted to protect him, too, from this place. From whatever it was they had to do. He carefully shifted so that he was standing in front of the pair, his cape flared enough to hide his child counterpart from anyone looking at their corner of the assembly. On either side of him, two more adult Batmen noticed the same boy, had the same reaction, and silently moved to flank young Bruce and Alfred, who didn't show any outward sign of the relief he felt at their consideration. 

"Can he succeed?" asked a tall Batman who's costume had especially long ears. His voice held even more authority than the Shaman's and the fresh, young Batman next to him started ever so slightly. He hadn't heard his father's voice in years.

"Yes. He is borrowing power from a source I haven't identified yet. But if we put aside our differences," he said, leveling his staff warningly at two different Justice Lord Batmen who were sizing each other up, "I believe we can put a stop to his plan now."

"Each of us, no matter our name or our path in life, owes something to this place. But only some of us lost someone here," explained the Shaman, "I need those of you saw death in this place to come to the center." 

The crowd shifted. Most Batmen moved forward, but a few, like Terry, stayed at the fringes. A few non-Bats stayed close to the center, a handful of men and women whom the others didn't recognize. A woman with black hair and piercing blue eyes stared at the ground in the center of the circle, clearly remembering. One man was unrecognizable beneath the extensive scarring on his face.

Young Bruce moved from behind Alfred, who stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. The boy looked up at Alfred's weathered face determinedly, briefly resting a hand on Alfred's before moving on. He was followed closely by the Batmen around him, who nodded subtly to Alfred before moving forward, still shielding the boy.

"If you need the Bruce Waynes at the front of the line then you can damn well keep an eye on this trash yourselves," called Talon, hauling a whip-thin Bruce, bound hand and foot, to the fore. 

Talon threw the cocaine-emaciated Bruce at the feet of the many Batmen, a few of whom recoiled from the oily and unhinged appearance of their counterpart. Old Man Wayne didn't flinch but narrowed his eyes dangerously. Talon removed his mask, revealing an elaborate and ugly owl brand on one olive cheek, to spit on the conquered figure before leaping up to a fire escape and addressing the assembly. 

"Keep a close eye on him, he's the most devious monster my Gotham has ever had the misfortune of knowing," Dick warned. Red Hood in his helmet climbed down from the next level of the fire escape to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, crossing his arms in a stance clearly meant as a challenge to the rest of them.

"Um, excuse me, but should these people be here?" a Red Robin on the east side of the alley raised his hand, "They have babes in arms for heaven's sake!"

The crowd parted to reveal a couple, well-dressed, clearly wealthy, but otherwise fairly unremarkable. The dark-haired man held an infant just a few months old, while the icy blonde at his side clung to the hand of a very young boy.

"I'm not a baby," he said, glaring at Red Robin.

"Hush, Richard," warned his mother. A few nearby Graysons raised surprised eyebrows.

Bruce shifted baby Helena in order to free one arm and adjust his glasses. His well-tailored sport coat almost hid his middle-aged spread. He cleared his throat,

"We're a little out of our depth here, I would guess that our world is not as...colorful...as yours seem to be. But this alley has history for me, the same as it does for you, and so long as my family's not in danger I'll help in any way I can."

"I'd wager this is one of the safest crowds that's ever gathered. Since the last League party," quipped Barbara, looking worse for wear in a battered and bloody cape and cowl nearby and, to her surprise, holding hands with a rather bamboozled Nightwing who wasn't even from her reality. Close to them was a Batman who hadn't moved to the center. Beneath his cowl, adult Damian couldn't help smiling at the goofy grin on Nightwing's face.

The civilian Bruce Wayne handed Helena to Selina and moved to the inner circle. A Batwoman, resplendent in black and crimson, a sighted Cassandra who had clearly left ballet class, and a sleek Catwoman, the only one present, moved into guard positions around the family. Two markedly young Robins pushed through the adults to talk quietly to Richard, who could barely contain his excitement at the gathering of costumed heroes he was somehow, magically, a part of. 

In the center of the circle, the bound, drug-addled Bruce raised his head from the ground where he lay as civilian Bruce approached.

"Eww," hissed the crime lord, taking a good look at the aggressively normal father and slightly gone-to-seed businessman. Behind his mask, Thomas Wayne bristled and moved closer to the version of his son that wasn't saddled with the same burden.

"Right back at you," Bruce said with disdain, standing with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, seemingly as comfortable in this company as he'd been at that morning's board meeting.

The Shaman was a little thrown.

"I'm sorry to have...inconvenienced you and your family. It's impossible to gauge the diversity of our realities."

"I did not sign up for this shit," whispered Duke under his breath.

"What do you need us to do?" Old Bruce asked, keeping them on track.

"We need to renew the covenant that ties us to this place,"

"How?" asked Young Bruce, slipping around the adults and revealing himself. A few barely suppressed gasps escaped the crowd. A furious Red Hood tore the hoodie off his head and yelled,

"Why the hell is he here? It isn't fair to make him face this place!"

"Jay's right, he's just a kid still!" yelled Tim, who wasn't much older. 

"He's here now," growled Old Bruce, "Let's just get this over with."

With the barest crook of a few fingers and a hint of a wink he beckoned to the boy, who moved to stand beside him. Old Bruce squeezed a small shoulder, gently pushing the boy until he stood slightly behind him. The pain of his childhood years was outweighed by all he'd faced as an adult; the twelve year old's presence didn't bother him.

The Shaman was starting to think this casting had been a terrible mistake. He couldn't tear his gaze from the shadowed eyes of the boy he'd been. His reality's Nightwing stepped forward to explain:

"The city is alive,"

A hush fell.

In the weird light-with-no-source that filled the alley, those closest to him could just make out the winged insignia etched into this Nightwing's pitch black uniform. In lieu of a domino, he wore black greasepaint smeared across his face like a mask. The absence of color made his blue eyes stand out even more. He waited a moment more to know that he had everyone's attention.

"The city is alive, and she created us. She isn't the same in each reality. In some she probably didn't want to create us, but she needed a protector. In others," he gestured gracefully to Businessman Bruce, "the very idea of costumed vigilantes is ridiculous, and she created something different."

"And in some realities she's a harpy, and she made us out of spite. A sacrifice she could gobble up." His voice was hard.

In the shelter of a rough brick doorway, the door long-since painted shut, a pair of tall weather-beaten men, dressed in ragged layers, were hunched toward each other, scarves pulled up over their faces. They were the only ones not facing the center of the alley. They couldn't face this assembly of vibrant, alive people. People they had lost, in their world. People they would lose again, once this spell was over. Cassandra, greying under the cowl, had taken up station before them. Preternaturally still and managing to loom despite not being very tall, she shielded them from the curious glances of the crowd. She'd seen their pain.

"But the choice wasn't just hers," Nightwing continued, "It was ours, too, after she set things in motion. Our oaths. To ourselves, to each other. To lost loved ones."

"To renew the covenant we need only remember those promises. Gathered together, as we are, their power will help this node take root. A part of Gotham, in all her forms, forever."

They all felt the weight of his last word. 

"Damn," sighed Jim resignedly from the edge of the crowd. Like his whole life wasn't already filled with vows to this city.

Collectively they steeled themselves, rolling out shoulders or taking deep breaths. Growing quieter or growling softly. Pushing masks back onto faces, twitching capes back into place, straightening ties. Looking inward or to each other, as the case may be.

Feeling the energy already in motion, the Shaman started new incantations. He sensed more than heard his family join in from their places outside the innermost circle. Their voices were as one as they aided him, and the small part of the Shaman that wasn't laser-focused on the magics at hand felt a swell of gratitude for them. 

Extending a bared hand, the Shaman readied himself to shed blood for his city one last time. Their pacts had been made by blood and would be resealed by it.

Whatever warm feeling he had for his family was doused when his Robin darted forward and cut his own hand, letting the blood flow freely onto the pavement. The fact that the others' voices didn't falter told the Shaman they'd been in on his youngest's plan. He glared at the boy as he continued chanting.

"You've given too much of yourself and you know it," Robin scolded quietly, "Their blood flows through my veins, too." 

Robin, his suit so deeply red it was nearly black, bound up his hand with bandage from his belt and stalked smugly back to his original position. The Shaman put aside his anger to concentrate.

Slowly, the blue glow filling the alley was pulled into one flame-bright point in the very center of the gathering, whirling tighter and tighter into a sphere as the crowd of heroes was left in total darkness. They all felt a pull, a sharp tug toward the center of Crime Alley. As though something had been taken from them, and yet each felt heavier rather than lighter. 

More and more pressure built in the air around them, popping ears and pressing down on lungs until suddenly the blue light burst into a seemingly infinite column. Some, watching through eyes slitted against the brightness, imagined they could see a never-ending line of light that pierced layer upon layer of Gotham buildings, Gotham pavement, Gotham dirt. Every reality they came from strung out like pearls on a string, but also layered on top of each other, existing in the same place simultaneously.

And then it was done. Sparrow's muffling of the gathering held, but the light that fell on them now was nothing more than the sickly yellow of this Gotham's older streetlights, barely visible at the either mouth of the alley. 

After a beat of silence the Shaman said quietly,

"Thank you," He turned to leave the center of the alley, leaning heavily on his staff until his Nightwing and Cassandra slid under each of his arms to support him as the crowd parted before them.

"Don't you have to send us home?" Young Bruce asked, moving toward his Alfred who had joined him at the center.

"We're already on our way, young sir," answered a different version of Alfred, wearing thick glasses and unusually tall, as he started to fade around the edges. 

Small Dick and Jason said cheerful goodbyes to civilian Richard and darted through the crowd, somehow unerringly finding their own Batmen.

Resting a hand on Old Bruce's shoulder, Alfred spoke quietly to him. But Old Bruce could only smile softly as he faded away from the nexus. Alfred sighed as Batgirl hugged him around his shoulders. Nightwing stared at the ground close by, his arms crossed. Their Batman had already faded back to their own reality.

"He's not alone," Terry said, as he landed lightly before them, "I'll take care of him," he promised, disappearing.

Standing near some abandoned pallets, hands in pockets and at a complete loss, Clark said only, 

"Huh." 

It earned him a look of reproval from Bruce as they both faded from view.

As the alley emptied steadily, a matte black Batman caught the eye of one his counterparts, not colorful, but with more contrast to his grey and black uniform. The latter was surrounded by Red Robin, Nightwing, and Red Hood, all chattering quietly. Their Robin, particularly surly, stared down the matte black Batman as he spoke.

"You let children fight for you?" he asked of the other Batman, his voice the quiet scrape of slow tires on pea gravel. The sidekicks grew quiet.

"No," Batman answered in the silence, "I let _my_ children fight beside me." 

Growing transparent, his mouth just barely suggesting smugness, Robin turned his back on the matte black Batman.

"Cass," called the fading Batman. Ballet-class Cassandra had been crouched in a silent tête-à-tête with the inhuman bat creatures. She smiled a farewell and ran lightly to join their group as they all disappeared. The bat-things tilted their heads quizzically as they watched her go, making Spoiler smother a giggle.

Drug-lord Bruce, still on the ground, had finally wriggled free of his bonds and had just pulled a knife from his sleeve, a sick smile on his face, when the raven-haired woman stomped on his wrist so heavily that the remaining heroes heard a crack and the criminal's muted scream as he faded away. As she grew transparent the woman met the eyes of a nearby Batman. He remembered the coldness in them long after he'd returned to his own reality.

Finally the alley was empty. Its stillness belied the magic that had just transpired.

The Shaman and his children turned their backs on the node and exited onto Geoffrey Street. The Flying Fox climbed over the arms of Cassandra and Nightwing to squawk angrily at the Shaman over his shoulder.

"Oh, hush," the Shaman said, exhausted.

"He's right," Nightwing said tersely.

"I can't believe you approved of that," the Shaman tilted his chin in the direction of Robin, walking just a step behind red-haired Scroll as she took point.

"He's old enough to make that decision for himself, and I'll take it over you sacrificing yourself." 

The group headed down the street toward the vehicles they had rendered invisible. They encountered no one: this Gotham's residents had learned to sense and avoid large castings.

Adjusting his arm beneath the Shaman's shoulder Nightwing said,

"Sometimes I wish you'd fight harder to stay here with us."

Sparrow behind them cleared his throat quietly and the group froze in place, scanning their surroundings. 

"You think you're so clever," said an orange cat from its perch on an abandoned newspaper vending box, "Dropping anchor with the rest of them." Its voice was a whiny hiss.

"You can't even go near it, can you?" Sparrow said with a smirk, referring to the node in the alley, "You had to send your familiar to harass us."

The cat's tail whirled with irritation and it turned its slitted eyes back to the Shaman.

"I don't know why you bothered. Your node it just one drop of Order in a sea of Chaos."

"Not a drop," said the Shaman, standing tall between Nightwing and Cassandra, "An island."

"Where you are not welcome."

Though the Shaman had very little power left to him, his family threw theirs at Klarion's familiar, arms sweeping upward in concert. The smoky ghost of the familiar blew away from the now normal cat, who bounded down the street with a yowl that echoed in the night air. The bat on the Shaman's shoulder chittered after it irritably.

"Language," the Shaman chided.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've seen Crime Alley referred to as both a neighborhood and the specific alley, so in this fic it is the latter. Also, I've obviously taken some liberties with canon (smashed them all together?) and made some additions, so I hope you'll forgive anything you find wildly inaccurate. Finally, if you didn't spot your favorites, please go ahead and imagine they were somewhere in the crowd. :)


End file.
